


The Danger in Becoming

by thatviciousvixen



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, THAT BEING SAID, let's start by saying that any relationship with a narcissist is not going to be a healthy one, this fic depicts a pretty vanilla relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 18:55:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatviciousvixen/pseuds/thatviciousvixen
Summary: June Calhoun lives a fairly simple life in Hope County. Between his bartending job at the Hound's Tooth and his meager attempts at starting a band with his roommates, there isn't much excitement and even less opportunity for romance. Until John Duncan walks into his life.





	The Danger in Becoming

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! It's been a while since I've been inspired to write for a fandom, so this is a refreshing feeling. Tags will be added as they come up, main warnings for this chapter are a whole mess-o smut. Enjoy, and come hang out with me on Tumblr at the-alligator-queen!

The Hound’s Tooth isn’t a gay bar by anyone’s definition. On its busy nights it’s packed floor to ceiling with blue-collar roughnecks, the kind who spend their days working their hands to the bone and want nothing more than a stiff drink and a place to unwind come quitting-time on Friday. The walls are decorated with loads of old southern kitsch and neon signs advertising cheap beer, and the place sees its fair share of bar fights and bloody noses. Still, it’s the dive where June feels safest, seeing as he’s on the working side of the bar and all those big, tough men know him as the quiet fella pouring their liquor. There’s safety in that. They think of him as part of the decor, see him as an odd sort of mascot: one of the few queers in all of Hope County, a roadside attraction of his own right. They throw the occasional crass joke at him, ask him every now and then what dress he’ll be wearing to church come Sunday, but they’d also split a lip if someone ever meant him any real harm. It’s a loving sort of homophobia, and June would rather that than the alternative. 

“Do you reckon you’re a homosexual because your mama gave you a ladies name?” Jack is one of the regulars, a trucker who lives just down the road. One of his hands, as thick as the day is long, scratches at his scruffy beard before adjusting the ratty old cap on his head. Jack spends his Monday through Fridays hauling produce for the local farmers and his Saturdays and Sundays drinking. He says homosexual like it’s something he read in a textbook once. Like he’d rather say “faggot,” but he doesn’t want a tongue lashing from Annamae again. Like June is a specimen he never expected to see in the wild.

June laughs. He’s learned to pick his battles, to know the difference between harmless stupidity and genuine hatred. Jack may me dumb as a post, but he’s got a heart of gold when it comes down to it. “Dunno, Jack. Maybe. Suppose it had to be something, right?”

Jack nods, sucking on his teeth. “Your mama and daddy have much to say about it?”

“Plenty,” June snorts, and ain’t that the truth. Damn near tore a strip off him after finding him kissing the preacher’s son when he was eighteen, he hasn’t been back to Louisiana since. “My daddy just about killed me for it. Haven’t talked to them in five or six years, though.” 

For a moment Jack’s only response is to grunt, taking a long swig from the dark green bottle in his hand. He drinks the shitty beer that most truckers seem so found of, the beer that comes cheap and goes down smooth enough to tolerate. The kind with their logo emblazoned across caps and shirts and bumper stickers. He smacks his lips together before speaking. “Ain’t right. That’s your baby, homo or no. Ain’t right to chase your boy out like that.”

And that’s it, the reason that June puts up with their teasing and questions and ignorant words; deep down, on a human level, they sort of get it. Sort of. Sometimes he wonders if they’d feel the same if he were more effeminate, if he were shorter and thinner and dressed in frilly clothes. As it is, he’s just a tall, broad-shouldered kid in glasses and torn blue jeans, no harm in that. “You’re just sayin’ that so I forget your tab,” he teases, putting clean mugs away under the bar. 

Jack winks and finishes his beer. “Maybe. Gimme another, ‘fore I hit the road.”

And that’s a Saturday night. It’s busy enough, but the bar is mainly full of locals who keep to themselves and don’t really cause any trouble. It’s rare that June (Or Annamae, the girl working the bar with him) even have to cut anyone off anymore, everyone seems to know just how far they can go before the taps run dry and they’re kicked out for the night. At two they’ll give last call, at three they’ll finish their cleaning and lock up for the night. June will drive Annamae home in his rusty old ‘98 Tacoma, play Xbox for a few hours, go to bed and start all over in the morning. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s a good enough life to get by on.

It’s around eleven and June is starting to debate cutting out early for the night. They’ve only seen Jack and three other fellas since they opened up, and the tips haven’t been enough to make it worth staying. Everything’s clean, the bar is stocked, and Annamae won’t stop talking about that damn cult and making June’s hair stand on end. 

“I’m just saying, they’re the reason we’re so dead,” she insists, halfway through braiding his hair. They do this a lot when it’s slow; she’s got a two year old girl at home, and his shoulder-length brown hair is perfect for practicing for when she’s a bit bigger. “Half of our customers have joined up, other half are too afraid to leave their houses.” 

“You know I hate talking about this, Anna,” June groans, head tilting back as she tugs at his hair. “We’re close enough to Missoula that it’s not our problem, let’s just...pretend it isn’t happening.”

Annamae tugs at his hair again, gentle enough that it doesn’t actually hurt but firm enough to serve as an admonishment. “That’s what got us in this mess in the first place, people not speaking up. If no one does anything about it they’ll take over this whole damned county, maybe the whole state before somebody actually steps in.”

Oh yeah, he’s definitely going home. There’s no way he’s staying for this. June is about to open his mouth to say so when the door opens to reveal a small party of people chatting animatedly as they walk in. They look like the usual crew of slightly rough, vaguely unkempt working men and women, save for one; in the middle is a young man dressed impeccably in dark gray trousers and well-pressed black shirt, beard neat and trimmed, hair pushed back off of his face. For a moment June thinks he looks a bit familiar, but the thought goes nowhere and is pushed aside. The group takes a table in the far corner, dragging a few chairs over and getting comfortable.

“I’ve got it,” Annamae says, pushing the sleeves of her plaid button-up to her elbows and grabbing a notepad. “Split my tips if you clean the bathroom tonight?”

June considers this for a moment before nodding. “Deal.” She leaves to take orders and June returns to Jack’s end of the bar.

“Still doin’ alright?” he asks Jack, leaning his folded arms on the bar. Jack’s definitely getting close to his limit. He’s starting to look tired, head drooping every now and then. “I think this one’s your last, Jacky-boy.”

Jack hums, giving a distracted nod. “That brother’ll be comin’ to pick me up soon,” he mutters. “I’ll finish this one and mosey on out.” He opens his eyes, peering closely at June. “Don’t let none of those fellers over there bother you none, y’hear? You may be a sissy, but you’re our sissy.”

June laughs, shaking his head. “Thanks, Jack. I’ll keep that in mind.” He helps Jack close out his tab, fills the bowl of beer nuts in front of him, and turns to check on Annamae. As he does he notices the nicely dressed man leaning against the bar, eyes sweeping over the chalkboard menu mounted on the wall. June strolls over, grabbing a bar towel to give his hands something to do. “Anything I can get you?”

Up close, it’s hard not to notice how handsome the newcomer is. Underneath that trimmed and groomed facial hair is a striking, angular face, and the bluest eyes June has seen in a long damn time. His sunglasses are pushed up on his head despite it being dark out, and there’s a cross hanging from a chain around his neck. His sleeves cover his arms, but June can see enough tattoos on his hands and neck to wonder just how much skin they cover. 

The man smiles, biting his lip as he gives June a quick once over. It catches June by surprise; it’s been a long time since anyone’s checked him out, so long that he thinks he must be mistaken. Or maybe the stranger is judging his Pantera shirt. “Say I wanted a beer that wasn’t the usual cheap stuff. Anything you’d suggest?”

June scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, twisting the towel between his hands. He glances over his shoulder at what they’ve got on tap. “How do you like your beer?”

“Oh, I like it sweet.” 

But damn if it doesn’t sound like he’s being flirted with. June swallows hard. “We’ve got a good one from Angry Hank’s out in Bozeman, Fried Dynamite. It’s sweet and dark, more of a dessert than a drink.” Tucking the towel into his belt, he runs his fingertips anxiously over the polished wood of the bar. Does he flirt back? Is this a setup? Everyone puts up with him being queer, but June doubts they’d be as accepting to see it in practice. This feels like a trap. “We’ve also got a pretty great one from Beaver Creek, it’s got this fruity, cherry sort of flavour to it.”

The man seems to consider this before grinning again. “I like fruity. I’ll try that one.”

“Right away,” June chokes out, glad for the opportunity to turn around and hide his face. He’s looking for his bottle opener when Annamae returns, notepad full of scribbled-out orders. 

She glances at him, frowning at the look on his face. “You alright?”

June gives a small nod, clearing his throat. “I think the guy at the bar is flirting with me,” he says in a nervous whisper. “But...it’s been a long damn time and I can’t tell anymore.” 

Annamae looks over her shoulder with no attempt at discretion, checking the man out before turning. “Might be gay, dressed like that,” she reasons. “Handsome as hell, though.” She leans in, voice dropping. “None of his pals are drinking alcohol, so try buttering him up so he’ll spend more.”

“This won’t end well,” June murmurs. He plasters on a friendly smile before turning back around, setting the bottle and an empty mug in front of the stranger. “Can I start you a tab?”

“Sure, put it under John.” This “John” leans in, making a big production of reading the nametag pinned to June’s tee. “June. You don’t hear that one every day,” he says, taking a sip straight from the bottle and giving a small hum of approval. 

“So I’m told,” June says, mortified by just how hot his face feels. Still, a small part of him feels daring, dangerous. He’s being flirted with. By a man. He takes a deep breath and takes a chance. “Jack down there reckons it’s the reason I’m gay, having a lady name and all.” He forces out an awkward laugh, shrugging. “Who knows.”

Immediately he realizes how he must sound, what an overshare that was. He’s about to make a hasty exit when the stranger laughs - actually laughs, at his joke and not at June himself. “Who knows? I figure if that’s the way you were made then that’s the way you were supposed to be, right?” He’s got a smooth way of talking, bold and sure, low enough that he’s got June leaning in to hear him over the small din made by his friends in the corner. “I try not to wonder why things are the way they are.”

June smiles, so much easier this time. “That’s a good way to do it. How’s the beer?”

“Good,” John assures, raising his eyebrow. “You were right, it’s sweet. Fresh, though.”

“Mhm. Good for the summer, it’s perfect for hot day.”

John has long fingers, the kind June could see wrapped around his waist. He trails them along the rim of the empty mug. “Mind if I ask you a few completely cliche questions?”

Every now and then one of the larger group will glance over, curious about what John is doing at the bar. Each time it happens June feels himself tense up, but every time nothing of interest is found and the eyes move away. He’s finally starting to relax, to let himself enjoy the company of a man who clearly wants his attention. “I suppose I could allow it.”

“Excellent.” John grins, tapping his fingers against the bar. “You worked here long?”

“A while,” June nods, grabbing the half-empty water bottle he’s got stashed under the bar. “Three years now? Jesus, can’t really believe it’s been that long, now that I’m saying it out loud.”

John raises a brow, a teasing gleam in his eye. “Have you even been old enough to drink for that long?” he asks, and yeah, this is definitely flirting and June is definitely into it. This chance doesn’t come often in Hope County, so June is gonna fucking take it.

“Look who’s talking. I can clock a babyface behind a beard from a mile away, should I be carding you for that beer?” he teases back. He realizes his hair is still in the braid Annamae had put it in, reaching up to snatch the tie out and unwind the strands. He reaches up to shake it loose, letting it hang free around his face. “Not that it isn’t a very nice beard.”

John’s laugh is crystal clear, joyful. It makes something flutter low in June’s stomach. “I try. I’m thirty-two, so if there’s anything for you to worry about I suppose it’s me being a cradle robber.”

“Oh.” June rests his elbows on the bar, leaning in. “Are you robbing a cradle right now?”

Smiling lips wrap around the mouth of the bottle as John takes a slow sip, eyeing him up and down. He swallows slowly, Adam’s Apple bobbing. June wants to wrap his lips around it, see how it tastes. “That depends. You still haven’t told me how old you are.”

The banter feels surprisingly easy, unlike most of June’s encounters. Usually they’re relegated to awkward hookups set up through Grindr, quick and dirty things that usually go down in the bed of a beat up truck and go absolutely nowhere after. He’s ashamed to admit that he’s given his fair-share of blowjobs in truck stop bathrooms, the knees of his jeans filthy by the time he’s done. This feels so...innocent. Right.

“I’m twenty-seven,” he says, shrugging. “Twenty-eight next week, actually.”

John barks out a laugh. “You weren’t even born in June? That seems unfair.” His drink has barely gone down, he seems much more interested in the conversation that the beer. “Are you named after someone?”

June shakes his head. “Nope. Mama just swore up and down she was going to have a girl, and when I came out she didn’t have a back up plan for a name. So they just went with June anyway.” He looks up, humming. “Least, that’s what my uncle Andy told me, coulda been pulling me leg.”

Around them the night seems to slip by without incident. June is vaguely aware of the group in the corner getting progressively rowdier, of Annamae starting to clean up for the night and of Jack slipping out on his tab. He can’t be bothered with any of it, not when John is close enough to smell the spicy sweetness of his cologne. When he finally looks at his watch again he jolts up, eyes wide. “Shit! Shit shit shit.”

John sits up, startled by the outburst. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” June sighs, looking around and noticing with a pang of guilt that Annamae has already done most of the cleaning up. “I need to help with all the closing up, I’ve done fuck-all tonight to help out.” He looks back to John, biting his lip. “Thanks for the conversation though, can’t say I regret it…”

There’s a long pause as John seems to consider his options, running his hand over his beard as he thinks. “Say I hung around until you were all done for the night…”

“I won’t be long,” June says, quick enough that his tongue nearly trips over himself getting the words out.

John’s grin somehow manages to grow even wider, even wickeder. “My place?” 

If June’s mouth would work he still wouldn’t know what to say. He settles on nodding, so hard that some of his hair tumbles into his face. When his words finally return they tumble out, rushed and awkward. “Yes! No, yes, absolutely. I’d be down for that. I’ll be like, half an hour? Maybe?”

Like an angel from Heaven, Annamae descends, hand on his shoulder. “Get on out of here. I figure I can handle the rest, ain’t much left to do.”

June turns so his back is to John, shooting her the most grateful look he can muster. This is why he loves the crazy, simple, amazing people in his life. They may not get it, but damn do they try. “You sure? I owe you big time, Anna.”

“Go get out of here, you little weirdo,” she says fondly, under her breath. “Go get laid.”

June kisses her cheek before turning back to John. “Let’s go.”

-

Apparently John has a ranch deeper into the valley, though he swears it won’t be too long of a drive there. That’s fine by June. They make easy conversation on the way back, John’s hand resting comfortably on his knee, the heat between them filling the space as June runs his fingertips over John’s knuckles.

“It’s so wild that so many people would come for a church’s rights like that,” he muses, watching the blurred greenery of trees rushing past. John’s been telling him about his brother’s church, about all the bullshit they deal with. “They’re lucky to have you, it sounds like you’re pretty damn good as protecting them.”

John hums, dutifully keeping his eyes on the road despite how his hand massages at June’s knee. “It’s the reason I got into law. Seeing my brother work so hard for the community, so hard for the people of church...it was all I could think to do to help him in some way.” He shakes his head, sucking on his teeth. “Anyway. Is the bar your only job?”

“The only one I claim on my tax returns,” June snorts. “I’m a musician. Sort of. I travel every now and then to play bars and clubs and open mics, but it’s more of a hobby then anything.” Speaking it out loud, he can really hear how lame it sounds. When he was younger he was so sure music would be his ticket out of the sticks. He had drive. Now...now it’s just something he does when he’s got nothing else going on. 

John, though, seems interested. “What do you play?”

“Oh. Well. Guitar fairly confidently. Piano and violin when forced,” he says, blushing. “My parents were big into music, so before I left home I took lessons in just about everything. Some of it stuck.”

There’s a moment where June is worried that John might ask about his parents. Definitely not conversation material for a casual hookup. Luckily John doesn’t push it, instead going back to running his hand casually over June’s knee. Slowly, surely, that hand starts to creep higher. First it’s a steady slide up his thigh, tracing absent patterns over the denim. Soon enough his fingers move further in. June huffs a short breath, biting his lip as he spreads his thighs apart.

“It’s damn hard focusing on the road with you sitting there, looking like that,” John murmurs, and sure enough the hand gripping the steering wheel is white-knuckled with tension. He moves up a few more blessed inches and suddenly he’s right there where June wants him, fingers dragging over the teeth of his zipper. 

June makes a satisfied sound in the back of his throat, tilting his hips up. “If you crash the car no one gets to have any fun.” He rests his hand over John’s, pressing down gently so he can feel the outline of his cock, thickening against the stiff fabric. 

John hisses out a soft “fuck” as he snatches his hand away and tries to focus on the road. He presses down on the gas, Hope County whipping past them at dangerous speeds as he rushes to get them to a bed. 

It takes them about ten more minutes to get to the ranch, which turns out to be a sprawling compound consisting of multiple buildings and a staggering number of vehicles strewn about. It’s meticulously well tended to - the grass is green and healthy, the buildings are either new or particularly well-maintained, there’s no decrepit farm machinery or broken fences or anything of the like. Past the property June can see thick forest, the mountains beyond that. It’s a fucking mansion, really. 

He’ll get a better look when he leaves. Right now? He’s fixin’ to get laid.

John parks in front of what seems to be the main house, a picturesque two story lodge. It looks like something you’d see in a pamphlet extolling the virtues of big sky country. June slides out of the car, shutting the door and shooting an eager grin over at John. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. I’ll give you the tour later,” is his reply, and how can such a simple statement sound so lascivious? John leads the way in, barely bothering to turn on any lights as he makes a straight path for his bedroom, hand firmly on the small of June’s back to guide him. The room they end up in is fairly decadent but a bit impersonal, as far as bedrooms go - it almost looks like John doesn’t spend much time here - but the decor is the last thing on June’s mind.

He watches as John kicks the door shut, eyes trained on the way he rolls the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. More tattoos are uncovered, a multitude of patterns and stories that June will trace with his lips and tongue and teeth like he’s charting the stars. He steps closer to John, eyes heavy lidded. 

This close he can see how long John’s eyelashes are, smell the sweet mint of the gum he’d been chewing on the ride over. He lifts his hand, stroking his palm down John’s chest. “Ain’t you gonna kiss me, mister?” he breathes, licking his lips.

With those few words the tension bursts between them like splinters of wood flying in a multitude of directions. John wraps a hand around his throat, gentle enough that June can breathe but firm enough to guide him up against the door. For a moment John merely holds him there. Studies him. Waits. It isn’t until June hitches a desperate little breath that their lips come crashing together like it’s the only place for them.

And oh, God, it’s good. John’s lips are just the slightest bit chapped, plush and full, the scratch of his beard rubbing up against June’s skin as their mouths work together. June licks past his lips to get more, to chase that taste of him. John’s hands are firm against him, the palm of the right against his throat holding him in place while the left holds him roughly by the hip. After a moment both hands slide up, gripping his face while John pulls away to look him in the eye.

“You’ve got the prettiest lips I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, voice as smooth as good whiskey sliding down your throat. Leaning in, he draws his tongue along June’s bottom lip. “I saw you behind that bar and fucking knew…”

June moans softly, parting his lips and trying for another kiss. John holds him steady, lets him squirm. “Knew what?” he breathes, eyes heavy lidded. He wants to keep them open, wants to be pinned by John’s intense stare, but it’s hard not to be swept under.

John gives him the smallest, sweetest press of lips before pulling away. “Knew that I had to have you.” With a swift pull-and-push June finds the world upended, tossed and sprawled out over the bed in the center of the room. John saunters over to him, casually looking him over as he starts to unbutton his shirt. “The only question now is what to do with you now that I’ve got you.”

The bed beneath June is soft, indulgent. He runs his palms over the blanket, trying not to squirm. “Anything,” he murmurs, licking his lips. “Anything you want.”

“Dangerous answer.” John shucks his shirt off, revealing a lean, muscular torso covered in more tattoos then June could have fathomed. They’re all over the place, but the ones that stand out the most are the multitude of “sins” across his body. “I could ask for anything. What if I wanted to tie you to my bed, take you apart for hours and send you off in the morning without any release? Is that what you want, pretty little thing?”

June sits up a bit as John leans over him, clever fingers plucking at the buttons of his shirt until it hangs off his shoulders. June pushes it off, casting it to the floor. “Anything,” he repeats breathlessly, reaching out to touch the light dusting of hair across John’s chest. 

Crawling into the bed, John straddles June’s hips as as he studies him thoughtfully. One of those large hands reaches down so he can grasp himself through his jeans. “And if I want your mouth on my cock?”

“Yes, fuck yes,” June hisses, hands scrabbling to join John’s. Something about his response seems to delight the man above him, eyes sharp and hungry as he lets June undo his fly and free his cock. 

It’s thick, long and perfect and every-so-slightly curved up. June heaves a sigh of pure delight, running his finger lightly from base to tip. “You’re so hot, fuck.” With a heavy lidded gaze he reaches up to grab John’s hips, encouraging him forward until he’s kneeling right over June’s chest. With a pointed lick of his lips he leans up, dragging his parted lips across the tip of John’s cock. 

John makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something caught between a groan and a sigh. He’s so uncompromisingly masculine; his suit may be tailored and his hands may be soft, but a sort of _maleness_ radiates off of him. June can taste it as he licks his way along the length of his cock, tilting his head a bit so he can lap at the velvety softness of John’s sack. Every noise he makes is a grunt, or a hiss of breath, or a soft “fuck” murmured under his breath as June takes him time tasting. A large hand with long fingers wind into June’s hair, and while he’s not pulling he’s certainly guiding him along. 

“Do you like that, baby? Taste good?” John hums, his free hand stroking along his chest as he watches June from above. When June chokes out an emphatic “yes” he gets that same dark look as before. “Come on, wrap those pretty lips around my dick. Show me how much you can take.”

June moves eagerly to obey, still holding tight to John’s hips. He wraps his lips around the head, suckling gently for a moment before slowly, slowly sinking down his length. 

He hasn’t sucked a guy off in a long fucking time, and even when he was younger he couldn’t exactly deep throat. He does, however, know that every man likes to hear someone gagging on their dick, so with a deep breath through this nose he tries to relax his throat and take John all the way down. He almost - almost - has it, but then the tip of John’s cock brushes over his soft palate and sends him gagging and choking and pulling back. Saliva floods his mouth, a bit trickling over his bottom lip as he pulls off. 

“Jesus Christ,” John spits, his voice dark and mean and beautiful. His reaches down, grasping June firmly by the jaw, hooking his thumb over his teeth to pry his mouth back open. As soon as he can he’s thrusting back in, going for broke as he pushes in so far that June’s nose brushes against his skin. 

Another red-hot pang of realization lances through June’s brain; this is shit that probably needs to be discussed first, you can’t go from zero to rough without setting some boundaries. He can’t be bothered to stop, though, doesn’t want to. Instead he closes his eyes and tries to relax, sucking as best he can around his mouthful as John lazily fucks into his mouth. 

“You’re so good, you’re so fucking good,” John rasps, thumb trailing away from June’s lips to stroke his cheek. “Do you know how beautiful you are? You’re perfect.” He’s babbling, lost in his pleasure, voice low and smooth and hot. June is lost in it, lost in this absolute stranger he’s known for all of an evening. 

June’s jaw is starting to ache when John pulls out, moving off to the side and coaxing him further up the bed. As soon as they’re straightened out John is kissing him again, one hand easily popping the button of June’s pants open. He slides his hand inside, eyes hungry. 

June’s not the biggest, as far as he can tell. If anything he’s probably on the small side. John seems delighted though, withdrawing his hand to yank the pants off completely, boxers coming with them. 

“Well aren’t you cute,” he murmurs, taking June in hand and stroking him gently. Anyone else and it would sound like an insult, but for some fucking reason it just works. “You going to let me fuck you, June?”

It’s so hard for June to keep his eyes open, all he wants to do is rest his head on the pillow and enjoy John’s hand playing with his cock. In what he hopes is an adequate response he spreads his thighs, canting his hips up and sighing. 

John’s hand squeezes gently, yanking a delighted moan from June’s lips. “Ah ah ah. Use your words. Do you. Want me. To fuck you.” With each sentence he strokes the very tip of June’s cock, so sensitive that June’s thighs snap together and he squirms at the touch. 

“Yes!” he manages to beg, eyebrows knit, lips parted as he draws in ragged breath after ragged breath. “Yes I want you to fuck me!”

That seems to be what John wanted. He smirks, rewarding June with a deep kiss and a hand traveling up to tease his nipple. “Good. You’re so good.” When he pulls away June whines and reaches for him, earning him a soft laugh. John grabs his hand, kissing his knuckles. “Just need lube. I won’t be long.”

He gets up and disappears through a door to the left, probably the master bath. June watches him go, admiring the muscular curve of his ass, the tattoos decorating his back. He remembers that he almost went home early, almost missed out on this. This...this is the most fun he’s had in ages, and if he gets his way there’ll be lots more fun in the future. He may be shy, but he’s not a fuckin’ idiot. 

When John returns it’s with a bottle of lube and a little foil packet, both of which he tosses on the bed next to June’s hip. As he crawls back onto the mattress he trails kisses up June’s body, nipping softly here, tasting there. By the time John reaches his lips June is hungry for them, tangling their tongues together in an urgent kiss. Their bodies are constantly in motion, moving and pressing and arching together, the heat of the room growing and thickening with every press of lips. 

After a few more minutes of frantic kissing John adjusts, sitting at June’s left hip and snatching the lube up. He reaches down to grasp a trembling thigh, pressing it up to June’s chest. “Last chance,” he purrs, silky and low. “You sure?”

For all of John’s suave posturing, there’s something about how vehemently he wants June’s consent. Something seems to rush through him with every frantic “yes,” spurring his passion and intensity. June licks his lips, giving a small nod. “Fuck, yes. I’m damn sure.”

John grins, squeezing some lube into his palm and working his over his fingers. With a low hum he works them along the cleft of June’s ass, taking pleasure from getting him as wet as possible. It’s only when June is rocking his hips down, breath starting to hitch in his throat, that John takes pity. He works one finger in to the second knuckle, watching June’s face with ravenous hunger. He’s met with little resistance - June is no blushing virgin, despite how long it’s been, so that one finger is not even close to being enough. 

“More,” June groans, arching his back and trying to grind down on the digit. “Please, John, more…”

“So greedy,” John coos, though he does withdraw his hand to add a second finger. He scissors them carefully, the lightest brushes teasing at June’s prostate. “You’re so lovely. So eager to show your pleasure. How is such a beautiful thing trapped in such a degenerate place like Hope County?”

June can barely respond, choking little gasps tearing themselves from his throat. “Long story,” he manages. His hand reaches up, stroking over John’s chest, chasing the wandering ink of his tattoos. “Fuck me,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “It’ll be so good John, please…”

A low, dangerous noise rumbles in John’s chest. He pulls his fingers out, hitching June’s thigh higher before pushing the other up to join it. As he crawls into place he takes his time to build the tension, thrusting the length of his dick lazily over June’s hole. Leaning down, he bites a vicious mark into the tender skin of June’s thigh. 

“Gonna fuck you so good,” he growls, reaching down to grip his cock, squeezing tightly at the base. When June reaches for him he bats the hand away, swatting lightly at his ass. “Behave.” 

With that order he finally, finally starts to push in. He’s clearly in no rush, the slide of his cock slow and sure as he thrusts forward, gripping June’s thighs with the obvious intent of leaving marks. As he bottoms out he leans down, pressing biting kisses into June’s lips. 

His self-control is amazing and infuriating. The thrusts start of slow, steady. No matter how June tries to urge him on, to buck up into the thrusts, he refuses to go any faster. 

“Feel that baby?” he sighs, hair falling out of its perfect style to hang in his eyes. “We fucking fit together. You’re so perfect, taking my cock so well.” Another kiss, another firm press in. “I’m going to fuck you so full, leave you dripping with my cum. You want that?”

June lets out a sound that’s a little too close to a sob, breathing heavily as John presses their foreheads together. Once more he’s trapped in those ice-blue eyes, chest heaving and skin slick with sweat. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, sliding his hands over well-muscled arms and along John’s back. Once more his enthusiasm seems to do the trick. John presses down harder against him, digging his toes into the mattress as he starts to hammer into the writhing, needy body below him. 

“Spit in your hand, touch yourself,” John commands, rough and low. He watches hungrily as June obeys, curling his fingers around his dripping length and stroking desperately. “You getting close, pretty boy? Gonna come all over yourself?”

All June can really do is nod frantically, desperate noises coming from somewhere deep within him. He can feel the tension gathering, coiling in his stomach like a snake ready to strike, looking for a target. He’s feels caught between the two sensations; his hand, frantically stroking at his length, and John’s cock, long and hard and deep inside of him. 

“Oh fuck!” he cries, eyes going wide and sightless. His body arches up into John’s, come spilling over his chest and stomach, something a little too desperate and needy escaping his lungs. His free hand digs crescents into John’s shoulder, just shy of drawing blood. 

“That’s it, just like that baby,” John grunts. He finally lets go of June’s thighs, instead grabbing his hips and pulling him hard into each thrust. June feels each press in right down to his core, his over sensitive nerves sparking like wires. A few more thrusts and John is coming, biting a livid bruise into June’s neck as his hips buck uncontrollably. 

It takes a minute to come down. June feels dizzy, dazed, strands of hair falling in his face. John’s cheeks are pink from exertion, eyes slightly glazed. When he’s finally able to move he pulls out of June with a sigh, shuffling out of bed to dispose of the condom. He returns with a cloth, gently wiping the mess off June’s skin. 

June lazily swipes his hair out of his face, chest heaving. “Holy fuck.” He looks over when John laughs, offering a delirious grin. “That...you...holy fuck.”

John climbs back into bed, laying on his back and pulling June tight to his chest. “Mhm.” A large hand swipes over June’s back, soothing his still-frenzied nerves. “Are you going to stay the night, or do I have to bed?”

The question catches June off guard. That’s not usually how things go down, not in this part of Montana and certainly not for him. He’s used to a hasty fuck and a slap on the ass before he’s ushered out the door, never to be heard from again. Still, it feels...good. Right, to be laying here pressed against John’s body, listening to the beat of his heart. 

“Yeah, I’m definitely staying,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to John’s shoulder. 

They lay in comfortable silence, no need to fill the room with forced small talk as the sweat cools and their muscles relax. For a while June worries that he won’t be able to get to sleep, too self conscious with his body presses so tight to John’s. Somewhere around three am, though, his eyes close. The next thing he knows, it’s morning.


End file.
